Текст книги "The Girl of Sand & Fog"
Автор книги: Susan Ward
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
CHAPTER 34
The next morning I open my eyes to find Bobby stretched out on the extra bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling.
Crap, I must have fallen asleep in the middle of the shitstorm and Bobby must have decided to be a jerk and not join me in bed.
Time for the next round, I guess, but after last night I’m not sure that I want to continue the fight. We argued for hours about how I could have gone behind his back and done this. Bobby fluctuated between being really angry, really nervous about potentially meeting his birth dad, really apologetic because he shouldn’t be bickering with his pregnant wife, and round and round we went until my preggers body had had enough and it was hasta la bye-bye, Kaley.
In between the discussion over how I could have done this, we debated whether to call his birth dad or just show up on his doorstep.
I study his expression. I’m not sure what his mood is this morning, but I’m exhausted. The last thing I want is to be dragged into more discussion.
I sit on the edge of the bed. “Get up, Bobby. Get dressed. Pack. We’re going to Lodi before we head back to Pacific Palisades. You can stay in the car if you want to, but if your birth dad is there I’m meeting him today. I don’t care what you say, I don’t care if you’re pissed at me, and we’re not discussing it anymore. Decision made. I’m going.”
We dress in silence, pack up, climb into the car, grab breakfast at a drive-thru, and head out toward Lodi with nothing decided.
I sit quietly in the car as we speed up Highway 99, pretending to focus on my meal as I try to read my husband’s face. He looks drained, worried, a little sad, and still a smidge angry with me.
The tension between us is palpable.
I hate when we’re emotionally out of sync.
He is staring at the road ahead, jaw tight and fingers clenched around the steering wheel. Not good. Silent, brooding Bobby.
I take a bite of my breakfast burrito. My stomach turns. Oh fuck, not morning sickness again. Not now. I try to fight down the bile in my mouth and it immediately fights to come back up.
A ghastly sound escapes me.
Bobby glances at me. The color drains from his face. “Kaley, what’s wrong?”
Without answering him, I scramble for the bag with the remainder of our breakfast and start retching. The tires screech as he pulls off on the side of the freeway.
His arm slips around my shoulders, supporting me. “Oh jeez, baby, I shouldn’t upset you. What a jerk I am. Fuck, is there anything I can do to help?”
I shake my head, not daring to speak, not sure that it’s over. I wait. Oh, thank you, God. Nothing. I relax back into my seat, breathing rapidly.
He starts to brush back the tumbling hair from my face. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. That didn’t happen because we fought all night, did it?”
A small laugh escapes me as I slowly open my eyes. “No, I got sick because I’m pregnant. I’ve been getting sick in the morning even after the nights we make love. Why do you think I’ve been spending so much time in the bathroom getting ready? I’ve been tossing my stomach into the toilet almost every day for five weeks now.”
His gaze holds me like a gentle embrace. “I’m sorry about the sickness and I’m sorry about the fight. I would have rather made love to you last night. I hate fighting with you, Kaley.”
“Me, too.”
He kisses me lightly on my brow. “Do you feel well enough to do this today?”
I nod, excited, since I can hear how much he wants to finish this trip to Lodi to meet his dad, even though he hasn’t said it.
We drive the rest of the way in silence, but the tension is gone between us, and he’s extra cautious not to upset me or drive too fast.
I ease close into his side from the passenger seat and let him put an arm around me. He drops a kiss on my curls and then I touch my lips to his neck.
“So I’ve been thinking of names,” I announce randomly out of nowhere. “If it’s a girl, Alana. And if it’s a boy, Aldo.”
Bobby’s expression is priceless. “You want to name a girl Alana? And a boy Aldo?”
I fight not to laugh. “Variations of Alan. Pretty groovy, huh? That might score you some points with my dad.”
He shudders, but he’s holding back a smile. Good. Even better. Yep, we’re back in a good place again.
An hour later our GPS prompts us to a freeway off-ramp, and I sit up in my seat, more alertly studying the passing scenery. Well, Lodi isn’t awful, but it’s not exactly great. It looks like every other hole-in-the-wall town in Northern California. I’m a little apprehensive about what we’re going to find. I’m pretty sure we’re driving the only Aston Martin in this area.
We cut through the city, making turn after turn, then onto a straight road that looks like it goes on forever. Vineyards line each side of the two lanes. It’s pretty and rural, and somewhere on this street is the house where Bobby’s birth dad lives.
I turn in my seat and smile at him. “They make wine in Lodi. I didn’t know that.”
“They make wine everywhere in California,” Bobby replies, his voice a little on edge.
“Maybe your dad owns a winery.”
He shakes his head, downshifting the car. “Nope, more likely works on one. Probably a day laborer. He’ll probably take one look at the car and ask me for a loan. I bet my dad is a total loser.”
Oh crap. That doesn’t sound at all like Bobby, and I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s just being uncharacteristically negative to keep from getting his hopes up.
“Your birth dad is not going to be a total loser. Your birth parents have to be good people to have a son as wonderful as you.”
His gaze moves to pause briefly on mine. “I’m still not sure if this was a good idea, Kaley.”
“Well, it’s too late. I think we’re here.”
The GPS is yapping in its annoying voice to make a fast left and I quickly read the sign verifying it’s the right address.
Bobby pulls to a stop at the giant billboard at the entrance of the driveway.
I give him the stare. “Aha. Loser, huh? Willis & Sons Winery. He owns a freaking winery, Bobby. A pretty successful one, by the looks of it. Can you relax now? This isn’t going to be awful and he’s not going to hit you up for money.”
Bobby puts the car back into gear. “Sons. The dude has other kids. I have brothers. Shit, maybe even sisters. Why didn’t they want me?”
His jaw clenches.
Oh damn.
I didn’t take that sign the way Bobby did.
I kiss his arm. “I don’t know. But since we’re going to find out very soon, why don’t we stop with the doom and gloom thoughts in your head?”
We continue down the road and park in an empty gravel lot shaded by large oak and sycamore trees and surrounded by buildings. One is obviously the main house, a large wooden structure at least a hundred years old, and across the drive is a smaller replica labeled Tasting Room. Set back behind both structures is a larger building with floor-to-ceiling barn doors open.
I quickly inspect the yard. “It’s beautiful here. Look, they have a small lake surrounded by grass with tables so people can have picnics. It seems like a very nice winery, Bobby.”
Nothing. No comment. He’s just staring out the window. After a few minutes, I unbuckle my seat belt and pull the strap of my cross-body tote over my head.
I open my door. “I’m going to go look around.”
Bobby stops me with a hand. “No wait. Someone’s coming.”
I turn in the direction of his gaze to catch a man exiting the largest outbuilding. The closer he gets, the faster my heartbeat. Oh my God: tall, lean-muscled build, light brown hair.
Holy shit.
“Hey, kid, nice car,” he says loud enough to be heard through the open windows, pointing at us as he continues walking toward the main house.
I climb out of my seat and he turns to look at me over his shoulder. His eyes widen in that she’s gorgeous way, and he’s impressed enough by what he sees that he stops walking, pulls off his sunglasses and turns to face me.
Big green eyes.
My heart drops.
Fuck, he can’t be more than thirty-five, but the resemblance is uncanny.
Willis & Sons Winery?
This guy has to be Bobby’s older brother.
“The tasting room isn’t open yet,” he says politely into my stupor, “but it’s unlocked if you want to wait inside. I can be back in a few minutes.”
“We’re not here to taste wine,” I hear Bobby announce. When I look he’s standing half in, half out of the car, staring across the roof. “I’m looking for Greg Willis. My name is Bobby—”
“Rowan. You’re Bobby Rowan,” he exclaims in stunned disbelief.
The color drains from the man’s face.
Crap, I can tell he knows exactly why we’re here and has been catapulted into his own holy shit moment.
The vineyard around us grows uncomfortably still.
Why doesn’t someone say something?
Fine. “Do you know where he is?” I ask.
The man’s eyes shift back to me, and then he hurries across the gravel, extending his hand. “I’m Greg Willis. This is my dad’s winery. I run it with my brothers. And you are?”
Oh my God, this hot, only slightly older version of Bobby is Greg Willis? His birth father? He couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen when Bobby was born.
I shake his outstretched hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Willis. I’m Kaley Rowan. I’m Bobby’s wife.”
His eyes widen and then he smiles and steps back. Almost in slow motion, he turns toward Bobby. “I’m the man you’re looking for.”
Bobby comes around the car, stopping close next to me. “My wife has some papers that indicate you are my father.”
Greg nods. “Don’t need to see them. I can tell just by looking at you, Bobby. And I’ve waited a very long time to meet you.”
I can feel the emotion coursing through my husband. “The records had an address for you, but none for my birth mother, Ellen. Do you know where she is?”
Greg’s eyes cloud over. “She was my high school sweetheart. We married right after graduation. Never had any more children. Just you. My wife died two years ago. A car accident. But I can tell you everything you want to know about Ellen.”
I stare up at Bobby to see how that one hits him. He purses his lips, nodding and looking dazed.
“We’ve come a far way to meet you,” I say. “It’s really hot today. Is there someplace cooler we can sit and talk?”
Greg flushes. “Why don’t we go into the house?” he suggests eagerly. “The entire family will be here later. My brothers—your uncles—and my dad. Please stay. I know everyone will want to meet you.”
Bobby’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He’s choking back emotion, and I can tell he’s not going to be able to speak anytime soon.
I shift my gaze to find Greg imploring us with his eyes. “We’d love to stay. We want to meet everyone.”
Greg’s smile is enormous—exactly the same smile as Bobby’s—as he gestures us toward the front door. “Come on, then. Let’s get you inside.”
Bobby nods. He looks like he can hardly take in air. His fingers clutching my hand squeeze lightly. I kiss his arm and step ahead toward the house.
I pause at the front door and look at Greg. “I’m so happy we came.”
“I’m so happy you’re here,” he says as we step into the house.
I peek back over my shoulder to make sure that Bobby is following from the yard. God, I’ve never seen him look so overwhelmed, but his expression tells me this is all going to be OK. The room is be filled with that tentative awkwardness of two people in an intense moment not knowing where to start, but the air is also warm with pulsing emotion from both men.
This is good, really good.
Bobby needed this.
I give myself a mental pat on the back.
“Should we sit down?” Greg says. “There’s so much I want to know. I want to know everything about your life, Bobby, and your beautiful wife here. And I’m sure you have questions. I’ll answer anything you ask me.”
Bobby nods, and I cross the room trying to decide where to sit. Then I sink down on a sofa and wait for the two men—unable it seems to do anything but stare at each other—to step into this incredible moment with me.
Finally, Bobby sits in the spot beside me and his dad takes a chair close and facing us.
Bobby rakes a hand nervously through his hair. “I don’t know where to start.”
Greg laughs. “I don’t either. Why don’t I start with what I know? I know you grew up in Pacific Palisades. I know you are one hell of an athlete and was your graduating class’s valedictorian. I know who your adoptive parents are, Len and Linda Rowan. I know you’ve been traveling across the US for the past two years. Your mom, Linda, is a good woman. She’s been sending us letters and pictures of you through the adoption attorney your entire life. We never wanted to give you up. We kept you for two months, but we were just too young to do right by a baby. It was the hardest thing we ever had to do, giving you up. But it was the right thing and we felt so blessed that we found Linda for you after we received the first letter from her. It meant so much to Ellen every month to get a letter and some pictures of you. An enormous comfort to know we did well by you, especially since God never saw fit to give us more children. That would have made life impossible for Ellen if we hadn’t known you were happy. Linda is a loving woman and prolific letter writer. I know a lot about you, Bobby Rowan. A lot more than you think.”
Bobby’s tense face cracks with a smile. “I hope not,” he murmurs and both men laugh.
Ah. A joke. A good sign.
I relax into my husband’s side. There are times Linda just floors me. This is one of those times. No wonder she didn’t hesitate or argue when I asked for information to unseal Bobby’s adoption records. She’s been communicating with his birth parents on her own for years.
Greg is right. Linda Rowan is a good woman and Bobby couldn’t have done better in the adoptive mom department. She not only raised an incredible man, but was the kind of mother who could make days like today possible.
As I listen to them quietly talk, a part of me wishes Linda was here to see this.
This would make her happy, too, I think.
I wonder if I can sneak a video without them noticing.
I slyly reach into my tote.
EPILOGUE
Seven years later
I hurry through the house to my parents’ backyard to find my dad surrounded by my brothers and sisters.
Jeez, Krystal looks agitated and annoyed, but then again this is her high school graduation trip before she moves to New York to attend Juilliard.
I avoid her stare, the angry sister stare, pinning me as I cross the patio.
Fine.
I’m late.
Deal with it.
It’s not like the plane is going to leave the airport without us, and if she had half a clue what a chore it was getting out of the house with a husband and two boys, she wouldn’t be so darn petty about waiting an extra twenty minutes.
Mom’s not even here yet.
See, I’m not late.
“Where’s Mom?”
My dad whirls toward me. “There’s my princess. Chrissie is still packing. We were starting to think you were going to cut out on us.”
I kiss him on the cheek. “I wouldn’t do that. I love our annual family trips. I’m sorry I’m late. I was sick all morning. I’m pregnant again.”
My dad’s jaw drops. “You’re joking, right?”
I shake my head. “No. Did a stick test. Pretty darn sure grandchild number three is on its way.”
Those black eyes burn. “Where the hell is that son-in-law of mine?”
“Well, that was a little mean, Alan,” I chide, mimicking my mom.
“What is wrong with that boy? You’ve just launched a start-up independent film company. That should be your focus. Two kids. Enough. Why can’t he listen?”
I bite back a smile and do a pout instead. “Well, that’s not the reaction I expected. And stop pretending you don’t like Bobby. I know that you do.”
Alan rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to like him if he keeps this up.”
Krystal starts laughing. “You’re so ridiculous, Dad. A man with five kids can’t be critical of a man soon to have three. It doesn’t work that way.”
He gives Krystal the stare. “Stop. You girls are not allowed to gang up on me. Not when Chrissie is not here.”
She only laughs harder.
My dad searches the backyard.
“Where is Bobby?” Alan asks again.
I sink down on a chaise.
“He’s not coming. I told mom that a week ago. He left this morning with the boys for Lodi to see Greg. Bobby’s been learning about grapes. Making wine. The business. We’re thinking about starting a winery.”
“A winery?” More displeasure on my dad’s face. “Terrible idea. They bleed money. Only good for the tax advantage. Bobby is just full of winning ideas, now isn’t he?”
I pout again. “I think so. He married me.”
Alan’s gaze softens. “Yes, you are definitely a winning idea. Unfortunately, you were Bobby’s only winning idea.”
Krystal scrunches up her face. “I’m never getting married.”
Alan rummages in his pocket for his phone—no doubt to call Bobby—as he drops a kiss on Krystal’s dark curls. “Perfect. Now all I have to do is convince you not to go to Juilliard, stay home and study dance here.”
Krystal groans. “Will you leave off about Juilliard? Why do you have such a problem with me going there? It’s becoming unbearable you trying to change my mind. Why don’t you just tell me why you don’t want me to go?”
Jeez, did my dad’s face just flush?
“No reason,” he says quietly. “I just want you here.”
“Not buying it, Dad,” Krystal says pointedly.
He shrugs. “I don’t like the thought of you living in New York alone, Krystal. That’s my reason.”
I lock eyes with my sister, her expression mirroring mine. Alan’s cheeks reddening—a definite dead giveaway.
What don’t we know?
Chrissie rushes across the patio. “Alan, stop giving Krystal a hard time about Juilliard. We should both be thrilled she’s going there. And there’s only one you. There’s not a chance in the world our daughter is going to run into a guy like you there.”
My eyes widen in disbelief. “That’s why you’ve been so difficult about the Juilliard thing, Pop? You don’t want Krystal to live in New York because you’re worried she might meet someone like you? Like Mom did when she went for her Juilliard audition? Just for future clarification, would that be worse than marrying someone like Bobby?”
My dad’s expression is priceless.
Krystal and I explode into laughter.
Alan frowns. “Thanks a lot, Chrissie. Way to be a team player.”
Krystal exhales loudly. “Why don’t you ever set me up with any of Bobby’s hot surfing buddies? I’d like to find a guy like Bobby. I might be willing to stay in southern California for that.”
I slowly shake my head, smiling. “Sorry, Krystal. Not going to happen. There is only one Bobby and he’s mine.”
The End
Continue the Parker Family Saga with the next generation, Krystal, Ethan, Eric & Khloe. Their books releasing 2016. For all my current and future releases visit my website:
http://susanwardbooks.com
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Enjoy one of my current contemporary romance releases:
Broken Crown
The Girl on the Half Shell
The Girl of Tokens and Tears
The Girl of Diamonds and Rust
The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet
The Signature
Rewind
One Last Kiss
One More Kiss
One Long Kiss
One Forever Kiss(Releasing Fall 2015)
Or enjoy one of my historical romance releases:
When the Perfect Comes
Face to Face
Love’s Patient Fury
Love me Forever: Releasing Fall of 2015
Enjoy Chrissie and Alan’s story from the beginning with The Girl on the Half Shell , The Half Shell Series Book One:
The room is so quiet it is deafening.
I find Alan on his bed, casually reclined against a stack of pillows, dressed only in flannel pajama bottoms, and reading—of all things—the Wall Street Journal. There is a fire lit, the silver candlesticks flicker with flame, the bedcovers invitingly turned down as if in preparation for some sort of romantic scene. But he is focused on the Journal.
He doesn’t look at me and I feel stupid hovering by his door, so I start to wander around the bedroom, trying to still my frantic pulse. It’s a good thing that it’s an interesting room, otherwise my deliberate study would seem silly.
Even Alan’s bedroom is something I find weird and demands a certain amount of mental analysis. It looks like something from a nineteenth century English manor, elegant to the point of being almost a touch prissy. There’s an antique mahogany king-sized bed facing the fireplace; floral wingback chairs with pillows positioned before the hearth; and high-tech conveniences camouflaged in antique furniture. There’s a Monet on the wall; tall, polished sterling silver candlesticks; crystal; and fine, leather-bound, first edition books of classic literature. I sink down before a small, mahogany table where I find a stack of newspaper: Barons; the New York Times; the Washington Post; and the Daily Telegraph.
The warmth of the fire surrounds me like a caress, but I am quaking like a leaf. I wasn’t sure what Alan expected after he walked out of the kitchen. It would have been logical to assume that I would leave. But he knew I’d follow him. I don’t know why he’s ignoring me now. I look at the lit candlesticks—he wanted me to follow him.
I bite my lower lip and stare at my knotted fingers. I stayed alone in the kitchen for what seemed like ages, and now that I’ve done exactly what he expected me to do, nothing.
I struggle for something to say to break the silence. “You do have seven bedrooms. I counted them twice. But there are seven only if I include yours.”
He folds the Journal, tosses it on the table and fixes those penetrating, mesmerizing eyes on me. “Is this the room you want?” he asks, his voice gentle. “I meant it when I said you could have any room. It doesn’t have to be my room for you to stay.”
Does he not want me in his room? A ragged breath forces its way from deep in my lungs. “Do you want me to go?” I murmur.
“Of course not. I want you here.” His voice is husky and his eyes are wandering in a leisurely hold that is tender and oddly comforting
